


wigs, fears, fireflies, and the like

by post_mortem



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Comedy, Fluff, i hope this makes someone smile, others tba!!, ryu and yuu are the best bros i lov them, this is just a feelgood fic now that I think abt it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-02-26 10:20:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13233672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/post_mortem/pseuds/post_mortem
Summary: Drabbles based on the canonical current concerns of Karasuno. Each chapter is named for each character!Part of a collection-in-progress of the concerns of Haikyuu's main cast, separated by school.(A couple of the main cast don’t have concerns, so they'll be written according to a different fact from their profile!)





	1. Sawamura: Not Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Current concern: His incessant dreams about the vice principal's flying wig.

_Ka-thump. Ka-thump._

 

As a stray beam of sunlight illuminates a greasy mop of hair that flies almost comically slowly toward him, Sawamura Daichi realizes he has never truly felt a fear like this, not at Karasuno, not at home, not even upon meeting Suga-san. 

 

_Ka-thump. Ka-thump._

 

The wig travels on a peculiar sort of spin. Its strands splay out like monstrous fingers, the sort that tower above the net, ready to sweep across an unsuspecting spike. For a second, the mop of hair gleams a terrifying red.

 

Idly, Daichi wonders if Nishinoya would be able to receive it. But then what? Would they keep it in play? Return it to the other team?

 

 _We’ll wipe the floor with your asses,_ Tanaka would sneer, baring all of his teeth, and then Daichi would have to present the wig and say, _Wait — hey, there’s a mop right here that you can use. I got it from the vice principal._

 

_Ka-thump. Ka-thump._

 

The wig approaches, and Daichi stills. Not that there was any avoiding it, anyway —

 

_Fwump!_

 

And just like that, the deed is done. But Daichi doesn’t move. He stares blankly into the pitch black, upset, like usual, at how perfectly the stupid wig fits the top of his head.

Crows squawk noisily in the clammy blankets of Daichi’s nightmare realm. He thinks one of them might be the vice principal.

“Karasuno’s volleyball team is cancelled for twelve years,” Daichi hears, finally making out individual words. “Hinata Shouyou, Kageyama Tobio — get out of my school.”

 

 

 

Suga falls to the floor when Daichi confides in him about his recurring wig nightmare. It takes the Captain all of two minutes to realize that he's crying from laughter.


	2. Sugawara: Be Afraid, Tsukki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Current concern: A lot of his juniors are taller than him.

“You could tie bears to your feet,” Shouyou tells him one day. They’re at Coach Ukai’s convenience store, where the kid is licking _nikuman_ soup off of his fingers. “Not only would you be taller, but also, you would _have live bears under your feet.”_

“Good idea,” Suga says, ruffling orange hair, and the kid beams greasily up at him.

 

 

 

“Not fair, Sugawara-san! You’re always favouring Noya-san over me!” Tanaka yells when Nishinoya begins a running jump toward the silver-haired third-year.

Suga laughs, and lifts Nishinoya off of the gym floor, spinning him around. “Because he’s so cute, and small!”

“Don’t worry, Ryu! I’ll pick you up!” Noya wheezes, collapsing on the floor when Suga sets him down. 

Tanaka clutches his heart, wiping away at pretend tears. _“Noya!”_

“Ryu!”

“Thanks, bro!”

 _“Bro!_ No problem!”

“It’s because you’re taller, Tanaka-san,” Tsukishima interrupts, a wry smile on his face. He stretches his long fingers out behind his head, then pulls on his sports goggles. “Suga-san doesn’t like it when his juniors are taller than him.”

Sugawara turns and stares up at Tsukishima for a long time, too long. Then he smiles, all liquid honey. “That’s not true at all, Tsukki. The reason I favour Noya and Shouyou is because they’re pure angels!” 

“You’re the angel, Suga-san,” Noya tells him, slipping on his knee pads.

“Hey, Tsukishima!” Daichi calls from the storage room, just then. “Can you help me for a second? The net’s stuck on the top shelf!”

Tsukishima shoots an exaggeratedly sweet smile at Suga, and jogs over to where Daichi waves from the dark room.

“You _want_ to get smacked,” Tanaka says, incredulously, as the first-year passes him by.

 

Suga refuses to set to Tsukishima for the rest of practice.

No one calls him out on it.


	3. Azumane: It Happens To The Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Current concern: When he tells people he's a student, nobody believes him; 1st years are afraid of him; girls in his class say things like "Even though he looks the way he does, he's kinda weak" and then get themselves disappointed; also his future plans; the captain being scary...and so on.

_“What are you!?”_ Suga-san yells at him, sandwiching his face between his hands.

Azumane Asahi sputters, shaking under his friend’s intense glare. “A student at Karasuno?” he manages.

 _"Exactly!”_ Suga shouts, and releases Asahi’s face, only to punch him in the gut for good measure. “You’re a _student!_ Not a thirty-year-old dad!”

Hinata dances around them, cheerfully scooping up the stray volleyballs and bumping them into the cart. “You can do it, Asahi-senpai!” he calls.

“Asahi! Focus!” Suga says, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Repeat after me! I am an eighteen-year-old student!”

“I am an eighteen-year-old student!”

“I am Karasuno’s ace!”

“I am Karasuno’s ace!”

“I am _not_ a pedophile!”

“I am...not a pedophile? Wait, who said I —”

 _“Listen!_ I’m more scared of you than you’re scared of me!”

“I’m...more scared of you...than you’re scared of me…?”

“That’s right!” Suga says, and smacks Asahi on the back, sending him stumbling toward the door. He throws him his duffle bag and his jacket and then smiles angelically. “You’ll do great, sweetie!”

“Yeah, go babysit the hell out of those cousins, Asahi-san!” Tanaka calls, pushing the mountain of volleyballs with Hinata now on top of it.

“Go, go, A-sa-hi!” Hinata yells.

Asahi winces, reaching to rub at his back. He thinks his heart is beating twice as fast as it was before. But he takes a deep breath and straightens out. 

_“Osu!”_


	4. Nishinoya: A Loud Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Not a concern!) According to Tanaka, the only type of movie Nishinoya will watch is over-the-top action, where he usually yells in excitement in the middle of the film.

“Come on! Ryu! _Please!_ Just one more!”

“I want to, Noya-san, but it’s one in the morning! Nee-san’s gonna chew us out!” Tanaka hisses. Nobody has to point out that Noya’s own boisterousness would already be enough to wake her up, never mind the two of them combined.

“Please! Ryu!” Nishinoya tries again anyway, tagging on a sad pout, and he can tell it works when his best friend sighs into the blankets,

“Alright, alright! Fine! But don’t blame me if I fall asleep!”

At that, Noya utters a too-loud _“Orrra!”_ and practically leaps off of the bed in search of another intensely explosive movie to shout over. Tanaka shushes him fearfully, and Nishinoya stills, listening to any possible incoming footsteps. There are none.

“Don’t worry, Ryu,” he assures with a smile, sliding in a very colourful DVD. One of his favourites. “Nee-san loves me, so I’ll keep us from getting in trouble!”

“Thanks,” Tanaka says, and yawns.

Then the movie starts playing, and ten minutes later, Noya’s eyes stop leaving the laptop screen. No matter how many times he watches this movie, it never seems to get old for him!

“Hell _yeah!”_ he yells whenever the protagonist gets a good punch in, which is often.

“Faster, come on! Why can’t you go faster, you stupid pilot!” he shouts whenever an escape scene comes around, which is also very often.

He groans when the enemies find the main cast out. He screams when a parking lot explodes from the bottom up, or when entire buildings collapse on unknowing civilians, or whenever he feels the scene needs to be _louder, louder!_ and he cheers when the main character finally gets the girl.

By the time Nishinoya tires himself out, and the movie ends, he can see that Ryu is already fast asleep under the covers. His throat scratches, but he doesn’t want to get out of the warm bed.

Just then, a soft knocking appears on Tanaka’s bedroom door. Noya perks up, listening.

“Yuu-chan? Are you still awake?” Comes the muffled voice of Tanaka Saeko. He’s wondering if he should pretend to be asleep, when Nee-san adds, with a laugh, “I know you are,” and opens the door. “I got a cup of water for you.”

“Nee-san, why are you awake?” Nishinoya says, and sits up on the bed, accepting the cup with a grateful _thanks!_

“It sounded like someone was getting murdered in here,” she says, clicking her tongue. She shushes Nishinoya before he can apologize, ruffling his hair. “I’m not angry, Yuu, I’m glad you two had so much fun. You just get to sleep now, okay sweetheart?”

Noya agrees with a nod of his head and the brightest smile he can muster, handing the empty cup back to her. “You’re the best, Nee-san!”

 

Nishinoya Yuu passes out cold when his head hits the pillows.

Saeko turns off the laptop. She takes a picture of the sleeping boys, shuts the door behind her, and goes to sleep with a full heart.


	5. Tanaka: Always A Good Senpai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Current concern: He tried calling out to a lost-looking first-year to tell her the way to her classroom, but she started to cry.
> 
> (Took a small liberty on this one. Also, Kobayashi is made up.)

Tanaka Ryuunosuke likes to think of himself as an approachable person. Everyone else tells him the opposite.

_Don’t be like me, Ryu!_ Nee-san had told him once, when he’d returned home dateless the day before the school dance. She’d jabbed a finger at her own cheek. _Look at this face! It’s too angry! Don’t look so pissed off and scary all the time! Girls don’t like scary!_

Tanaka hadn’t argued that she had a girlfriend, anyway.

So when he spots a small first-year wandering in the hallways, looking a little lost, a little dazed — he’s thinking, _here’s the chance to prove myself! Maybe I can be helpful!_

He puts on his most neutral face, and steers himself toward her. “Hey!” he calls out. “Are you lost?”

The girl takes one look at him and bursts into tears.

Tanaka halts. _Now what?_

“Hey,” he says, softer this time, and approaches the girl like he’s trying to pet a stray cat. “What’s wrong?”

She takes a seat right in the middle of the hallway, and sniffles into her sleeves. “I saw your face...I thought — I thought you were the Buddha,” she mumbles, then emits a strange noise. Tanaka realizes that it’s the sound of crying and laughing at the same time.

“Of course, that’s me,” he says, accepting his fate. He crouches down beside her. “Are you okay?”

“No — not really.” A sniffle. “I skipped class, and I feel — I was feeling really bad about it.”

_“Hah?_ Why’d you skip class?”

“...Didn’t do my homework.”

“Eh? You’re skipping 'cause of _that?”_ Tanaka says, now attentive. “Once, I had three platters of sautéed shrimp and five whole _meronpan_ and I felt too guilty to get up the next day. Now _there’s_ a good reason to skip!”

The girl laughs, and wipes the last of her tears on her shirt. “Really?” she says. 

Tanaka nods vigorously, getting up and reaching out a hand to help her to her feet. “Besides, as a second-year, lemme tell you, a little slacking off isn’t so bad every now and then.”

“Are you supposed to be saying that, as my senior?” The girl says, but her eyes sparkle up at him. Tanaka laughs. “You have sharp teeth,” she adds.

“I use ‘em to chew up shrimp,” he says. “So, what class are you skipping?”

“Math.” She pulls a face of disgust. Then, she manages to look a little sheepish. “Actually...I haven’t been doing my math homework for a week at least,” she admits. “I can’t — I don’t really understand what’s going on in class.” 

Tanaka shouts, “Don’t worry!” and strikes a confident pose. “I know a second-year who can help you with that!”

“It — it isn’t you, is it?” She says, breaking into a smile. 

“What? No! Who do you think I am?”

“Who _are_ you?”

“I’m Tanaka Ryuunosuke! Notorious for barely-passing grades! Next in line for the volleyball team’s ace! And you?”

“Kobayashi Ayameko,” she says, shyly. “I’ve never heard of you.”

“Outrageous!” Tanaka yells. “That orange shrimp’s been stealing my spotlight this whole time!”

“Orange shrimp?”

“The only shrimp I can’t eat!” he confirms. He checks his watch. “Hey, I have to go to class now, I’m already five minutes late. If you want that math tutor, you can find me in the gym after school,” he promises. “And you too, get back to class, okay?”

Kobayashi grips his hand in both of hers and shakes hard, then steps back and folds into a bow. “Yes! Thank you very much, Tanaka-senpai!”

Tanaka lights up. “No problem! Call me that again!”

“Tanaka-senpai?”

“Ahahaha! Again!”

 

 

 

“Ryu! You look...really happy,” Nee-san remarks cautiously when he returns home late from practice. “Did you...get a girlfriend?”

“No,” he replies, and smiles all the way to his room.


	6. Ennoshita: What Do You Mean Where's My Game Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Current concern: Even when he's really fired up, people tell him he looks sleepy.

“Oi, Ennoshita,” Coach Ukai says, snapping fingers in front of his face. “You even awake?”

“Yes?” he says, confused. He certainly _feels_ awake, post-practice blood cycling through his body, skin still smarting from the smack of the ball against his palm. “I’ve been listening this whole time…?” 

Tanaka pipes up from his left. “It’s just his face, Coach! His eyes look really sleepy!”

“Ah, I see,” Coach says, nodding like he understands. “Alright, pack up, you lot. Get home and for god’s sake, get some sleep — I’m looking at you, Hinata, Kageyama.”

The two first-years startle, stumbling over their _Osu!_ and _Hai!_ Tsukishima snickers at them, pulling on his jacket. 

“Chikara-kun should get some sleep as well,” Nishinoya chides. “Sensei’s always picking on you ‘cause you look like you’re slacking off in class.” 

_“You_ must sleep a lot, Noya-san,” Ennoshita says, bending down to stretch out his calves. “Otherwise, you couldn’t be this annoying.”

Nishinoya laughs, spinning a volleyball on his finger, and says, “Nope! It’s the _Toughman V.”_

Ennoshita winces. “That stuff’s _disgusting._ Besides, who can stand to drink it every single day?”

“You should try it, Chikara-kun! Maybe then, Captain’ll stop getting on your case!”

Sawamura-san turns around just before leaving the gym, and shoots them a terrifying look. He holds it for a couple of seconds, then marches out. Suga-san follows after him with his angelic smile, but not before throwing the gym keys at Ennoshita’s back and yelling at him to lock up.

“Is that why Suga-san shouts at me so much, too? Because I look tired?” Ennoshita shivers, watching his senpai jog to catch up to the Captain. He rubs his back and then picks up the set of keys, feeling doubtful about it. During a game, on court or off, he always feels fired up — so much so, like anyone could take one look at him and be like _yeah, this guy’s definitely bringing his A-game to the court._ He feels like his heartbeat could be echoing through the huge gym speakers and over the noise of the crowd and it wouldn’t make a single difference to him.

“Have you seen your face when you’re on court?”

“Not really, no.” He doesn’t pay attention to his expression so much as his posture when they’re reviewing their games.

“Ohhh my god,” Tanaka says. “You’ve _got_ to see yourself, you always look like an angry koala, or something.”

“Right?” Nishinoya laughs, then stops to ponder. “More like a...panda. Can pandas get angry?”

Ennoshita scrunches his face up, shaking away the hair that’s fallen into his eyes. “Like you’re one to talk, Noya-san,” he huffs. “When you’re on court, you look like a — like a tarsier, you know, with your big eyes and everything.”

Tanaka doubles over, slapping his knees. “Noya-san! Oh my fucking god!"

“Really, though,” Nishinoya teases. “Tomorrow I’ll get Coach to show us the video of that game again, y’know, the one where Ryu got Captain knocked out.” This earns a pout from Tanaka, but it’s short-lived because Noya jumps on his back and attaches himself around his torso. “Chikara-kun, I’ve honestly never seen you so brave. I don’t think I could ever do that.” Noya tilts his head backward and grins at Ennoshita upside-down, and then Tanaka hoists the smaller boy up onto his shoulders, voicing his accord with the statement.

Ennoshita remembers that moment. It had scared him to death, to be taking the Captain’s spot like that, at such a crucial point in the game, too. What he _doesn’t_ remember is feeling any sort of relaxed. He smiles inwardly, pleased to have apparently appeared so calm.

 _The captain doesn’t always have to have everything under control,_ Daichi-san had said, when he’d approached him about the subject. _He only needs to_ appear _that way. He needs to appear that way, so that the rest of the team can be strong, too. I believe that you have that quality._

“Thanks, I guess,” Ennoshita says to the other two boisterous second-years, and finishes locking up the storage room. He throws the gym keys toward Nishinoya, still on Tanaka’s shoulders, who catches them with ease. “Goodnight, you guys.” 

The two of them wave back, shouting and laughing after him noisily.

Ennoshita Chikara feels good on his walk home.


	7. Hinata: Small Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Current concern: He can't catch a ball one-handed.

_“Gwahhhhh!?”_ Hinata Shouyou yells, shakily clicking the _replay_ button of the super Ace’s highlight reel for the umpteenth time. 

Kageyama sticks his head in the club room, the rest of his body following after a moment’s hesitation. “Hinata, _dumbass!_ Don’t be so damn loud!” he snaps, letting his bag and jacket fall to the floor. 

“B-but — Kageyama, look —"

“I swear, if you’re watching that _stupid_ video of Ushijima-san again —"

“But he — Ushijima —"

“There’s only so many damn times you can watch a video —"

 _“Fine!_ Fine, just leave me alone, grumpy-yama,” Hinata says, and sticks his tongue out. “I didn’t need your help, anyway.”

“Good,” the taller boy says, almost immediately, and Hinata harrumphs and returns to gazing in awe and in envy at his phone screen once again. His mouth twitches when he hears a shuffle behind him, then a soft _thump_ as Kageyama sits down on the floor. The expression stretches into a real smile when Kageyama’s voice carries over his shoulder — “Well, what is it this time, dumbass?” 

“Watch this,” Hinata says, not bothering to hide his delight. He rewinds the video and presses play, and he can feel Kageyama’s eyes boring into the phone.

On screen, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Shiratorizawa’s super Ace, is next up to serve. The camera pans to his calm figure at the serving line, and captures how he catches the volleyball with one hand. _One hand!_ Like it’s nothing! And after the whistle blows, he tosses the ball up, body dipping and surging forward to pick up speed — and he jumps, palm connecting with the ball with a split-second arc and perfect form, all muscle and enormity, all powerful grace, and Hinata thinks that it isn’t at all unlike a great eagle swooping down in one deft motion to pluck up unsuspecting prey. The ball whips past the net, hitting the gym floor with a resounding _whump,_ and Shiratorizawa’s opponent doesn’t even have _time_ to react.

Hinata screeches in a mixture of anger and admiration, and pauses the video. 

And Kageyama seems to come out of a stupor, blinking at Hinata when he catches his eyes. “So?” 

“What do you mean, _so?”_

“We’ve all seen that service-ace a million times, I don’t get why you’re still drooling over it. You should spend more time practicing, seriously! _Boke!”_

Hinata huffs. Doesn’t Kageyama see how _cool_ and _aloof_ Ushijima-san is? Though he supposes, maybe, when you’re that high up on the volleyball hierarchy, there’s nothing that can really bother you anymore. Not even games. Not even — losing. Hinata doesn’t remember seeing the Ace crying when they’d lost National qualifications to Karasuno. 

“Kageyama,” he says, looking at his own palm. “Can you catch a volleyball with one hand?”

Kageyama gets up and stretches. “Of course. You’d look stupid if you couldn’t.” He points a look toward Hinata, eyes holding a bemused glint, and the smaller boy jumps up to chase him, shouting and cursing at him as they run all the way to the gym.

 

 

 

“I don’t know, I’ve never really tried,” Kenma says. His soft voice carries through Hinata’s phone speakers, and the orange-haired boy lies still on his bed, hoping Kenma would elaborate. When he doesn’t, he resumes tossing his volleyball. Up and down, up and down, all the while with _both_ of his hands. So annoying.

“Ask Kuroo-san to bounce a volleyball to you,” Hinata says. “Try it!”

Kenma sighs, the sound fluttering through Hinata’s phone, vibrating on the pillow next to his head. “I can hardly _hold_ a volleyball with one hand, Shouyou. Why does it matter, anyway?”

“I want to look cool,” Hinata laments. “How can I be a better Ace than Ushijima-san when I can’t even look the part?”

“You haven’t been _looking the part_ all your life, chibi-chan,” comes a smug, oily voice. Hinata hears Kenma groan. “Since when does _looking_ like an Ace matter to you? Doesn’t it feel great when your opponents underestimate you, and then you show them what’s fuckin’ good?”

Hinata thinks about it, letting the volleyball come to a rest in his arms once again. He knows that his opponents leer down at him, that the audience feels some sort of pity for the _short kid_ whenever he walks onto the court — _is that their...second Libero? Oh hey, that tiny kid’s a starter. He looks nervous as hell, wow, I feel kinda bad._ And then they play, and Hinata and Kageyama take the entire stadium with them, they eat them right up, they jump and they toss right into their unsuspecting hearts. It feels right. It feels _incredible._

“I guess,” he says, smiling. 

“Besides, chibi-chan,” Kuroo continues, “you’re still growing! You need to get bigger in general before your hands get any bigger. Just wait for it, you fuckin’ shrimp! Heheh!”

Hinata hears a smack over the phone, then Kuroo’s whining, saying _ow, Kenma, what was that for?_ and he smiles a little wider. “Thanks, guys! Goodnight, Kenma! Kuroo-san!”

 

 

 

“You could wear those Halloween raptor claws on your hands,” Suga-san tells him the next morning. “Not only would you be able to catch volleyballs more easily, but also, you would _have raptor claws on your hands.”_

Hinata blows a raspberry at him, and says, “Nah, don’t need to.” 

Then Suga-san gets called away before he can ruffle Hinata’s hair, so Kageyama does it for him.


	8. Tsukishima: Oh, Of All The Possible Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Current concern: Upon entering high school, he once again has to put up with various people asking how to read the character for his first name. ( _kei_ and _hotaru_ share the same kanji, and both mean "firefly." However, the latter is the common pronunciation, and also a name much more suited to girls.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, liberties. Love 'em. Also, this one's longer. I'm sorry, Tsukki.

“Okay, next! Tsukishi —” And the substitute teacher stops so abruptly that Tsukishima’s hand freezes mid-air, hovering level to his desk, and he fights to keep back an irritated groan. Come on, come _on!_ Why can’t she just call his name, like she did for everyone else in the _goddamn_ room, and be over with it already —

But even as he thinks it, he already knows, he _knows_ it’s the inevitable fate of being the younger sibling of a disgustingly well-loved college student —

And he feels a sort of vengeful calm. He lets it fall over his face, hidden under the mean glint of his glasses.

“Oh my _god,_ you’re not Akiteru’s younger sibling, are you? Let’s see — Hotaru?”

The more daring of the class erupts into giggles as Tsukishima finishes raising his hand, and says, “It’s _Kei,_ miss.”

He doesn’t miss how she pauses, obviously expecting to find the raised arm attached to, say, a smaller, cuter figure — the figure of a girl, perhaps. “Beautiful name, all the same. Fireflies are lovely creatures!” she says, smiling genuinely, and then goes on to wax poetic on how much Akiteru had _simply been a delight!_ in her class.

 _“Hotaru-chan,”_ someone crows from behind Tsukishima, barely heard over the teacher’s incessant rambling.

Then a snicker.

“Poor guy,” Tsukishima says out loud, mocking sympathy. “Always calling for his ex-girlfriend. Hotaru-chan’s gone, just accept it.”

Tsukishima turns around, smiling sweetly. He sees one of the boys open his mouth and close it again, red splotches covering his face — from anger, or from embarrassment? No, Tsukishima couldn’t care less — and watches as the guy’s friend laughs and reaches over the desk to punch him on the shoulder.

 

 

 

“Hey, hey, come on!” Bokuto whisper-shouts as he tugs on Tsukishima’s sleeve a little too forcefully. “Kuroo’s been asking for you all month, hey! Just come hang out with us a little, it’ll be fun! Right, right?”

“I don’t care about that stupid cat.”

Akaashi’s mouth twitches, and he says, “How about me, Tsukishima-kun? We’ll let your Captain know where you are.”

“Akaashi-san...?” Tsukishima looks at him in surprise, feeling betrayed by his only hope of escape — the only voice of reason — but Akaashi smiles his stupidly soft smile and rubs the back of his neck. 

“I’m sorry, Tsukishima-kun, but Kuroo-san’s been so annoying. He won’t stop asking about you. I’ll make sure we’re all back in time for afternoon practice sets, how about it?”

“Come on! Hey, Tsukki, you live so far and we never get to hang out! For me? For Kuroo?” the owl boy pleads, and Tsukishima feels his annoyance growing by every second. “I promised Kuroo, Tsukki —!”

“Fine, _okay!”_ Tsukishima says, exasperated, pushing his glasses up and rubbing his temples.

Bokuto lets out a _whoop,_ forgetting that they’re in the bleachers and have to be inconspicuous and quiet. “Third-gym bros are gonna meet up! _Hey, hey hey!”_

Across the room, Coach Ukai flits his eyes to Tsukishima and his merry little group, bringing a contemplating hand to his chin, and Tsukishima shrugs apologetically.

“You’re a one-man show, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, and gets up to drag him out of the gym.

 

 

 

Fifteen minutes later, Tsukishima finds himself in a quaint-looking tea shop at a wooden table, his bag sitting on one of its corners, sharing one of the new pastries that Akaashi had wanted to try out — and it would be, dare he say, pleasant, if not for the extremely explosive presence of one Bokuto-san and the untimely arrival of his _best bro:_ Tall, Dark and Insufferable.

“Oi, Tsukki! _Tsuuuukki!_ Miss me?” Kuroo collapses in one of the wooden chairs, chest heaving. He blows the hair out of his eyes.

“In your dreams, Kuroo-san.”

“Bro!” Bokuto-san yells, springing off the comfortable-looking couch near the opposite wall to leap onto Kuroo in a huge bear-hug. The weight of the two combined makes the chair creak threateningly under them. Tsukishima has to bite off another mouthful of the pastry to keep himself from laughing when he sees random passersby gawping at them through the windows. The owl boy and the cat boy must be sights to see, both of them dwarving all the naturally petite features of the tea shop.

“Hello, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi says politely, and looks over at the entrance’s still-twinkling windchimes. “No Kenma? You ran here.”

“Mm, couldn’t get him to leave chibi-chan and his gameboy,” Kuroo says, voice winded under the crush of Bokuto. “Bo, you’re sweaty! And heavy as fuck! Get offa me!”

Tsukishima frowns at Kuroo as his face reappears from under his _best bro._ “Unfair,” he says. “You sent Bokuto-san to bully me into coming, and not Kenma?”

“‘Cause I miss you, Tsukki-kun,” Kuroo sings, and then his eyes flick just for a second to Tsukishima’s bag, still sitting on the table. 

Nekoma’s tendency toward attracting cat-like students doesn’t allow Tsukki to so much as _reach_ for his bag before Kuroo yanks it toward his side of the table, with all the slippery grace of a lanky feline. In half a second, Tsukishima’s on his feet, but he refuses to give up his calm and collected dignity for even the academic contents of his backpack — which he holds very dearly — he _refuses._

“Kuroo-san,” he warns.

“What’s this?” The red Captain says, uncaring, plucking a black binder from his backpack. 

Akaashi finishes a slow sip of his tea and raises an eyebrow. _“Oya?”_

 _“Oya oya?”_ Bokuto repeats, also deciding to participate in the Tsukishima Bag Raid. He pulls out one of the novels Tsukishima has to read for contemporary Japanese, and the blond hisses in a breath.

“Careful with that, Bokuto-san. Please.”

Kuroo finishes flipping through the contents of the black binder, which Tsukishima guesses is one-fifth actual information and four-fifths disgusting economic graphs, and exclaims in delight when he reaches the back cover. 

Tsukishima startles, then takes an angry bite out of Akaashi’s pastry. “What?”

Kuroo looks up at him and grins slyly.

Oh. _Oh._ Wait a second. His full name.

“Tsukishima…” Kuroo starts, reading off the black binder, and the blond prepares for death — “Mm, _Kei,_ is it? Pretty name. It’s fitting for you.” 

Tsukishima’s a little too surprised to say anything of substance, so he asks, “How come?”

And promptly proceeds to curse himself.

“‘Cause you bring light to my world, just like a firefly.”

Bokuto hoots in laughter and smacks Kuroo on the back, hard enough for him to drop the binder, and Tsukishima steps forward, down to the last shred of dignity he has left, to take it back. The cat captain laughs his ugly laugh and smacks Bokuto back. Akaashi sits idly by sipping his tea, like a goddamn asshole.

Okay, maybe not an _asshole_ asshole, but at that moment he really could swear that Akaashi is from Nohebi Academy. Because he’s a snake who convinced him into _this,_ finds amusement in the fact that Tsukishima now _wants to escape,_ and to top it all off, _won’t help him._

He’s so caught up in inwardly directing his anger that he doesn’t catch Kuroo sauntering up to the petrified cashier, until he starts talking in that stupid voice that charms ladies without trying and makes straight men question themselves. It’s also the one that fucking annoys Tsukishima to the ends of the earth.

“One of those strawberry shortcakes you got, and a macchiato for Tsukishima Kei, the pretty _megane-kun_ over there,” he says loudly, so he can irritate Tsukishima, presumably. He adds, quieter, “That’s _Kei,_ same kanji as _hotaru,_ by the way.” 

Bokuto’s mouth forms a silent _o_ as he looks at the name on the black binder, which has inexplicably fallen into his hazardous possession.

“Of course! R-Right away, sir.”

Kuroo turns around while he’s waiting on the order, hands in his pockets like a fucking jackass, and _winks_ at Tsukishima.

The first-year blocker groans into his hand, retiring to a wooden chair, and Akaashi pats him on the back sympathetically. “You’ll get used to it. Kuroo-san doesn’t bite.”

“Right, Akaashi? Hey hey, Tsukki, this is fun after all, huh?”

Tsukishima grunts in vague response, taking his glasses off and placing them on the table to rub some normalcy back into his red face. 

It is then that Bokuto seems to undergo an extreme lapse in judgement and decides to _jump on Tsukishima_ with a happy hoot — which wouldn't be a good idea in the first place, or _any_ place, but _especially_ not on the wooden fucking chair — effectively squashing the life out of him. And Tsukki’s _really_ glad he had the insight to take his glasses off a minute ago, else they would’ve been reduced to smithereens by now. 

Blurrily, the blond sees Bokuto hold his hands out for Akaashi to join them, but the second-year politely declines. 

_Well, maybe Akaashi-san isn’t so bad after all —_

Is what he’s thinking, when some lanky cat of an asshole flies like a blur toward them, pastry order all but forgotten, and piles on top of a near-extinct Tsukishima and a loud-as-ever Bokuto, and Akaashi opens his mouth and _laughs._

“Don’t worry,” Tsukishima hears the setter say then, muffled. “Kuroo-san will pay for damage.”

 

The chair groans once, long and weary, and collapses under them with a _crunch._


	9. Kageyama: On Trading Your Dignity For Animals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Current concern: He gets the feeling that animals dislike him.

“Hello,” Kageyama says. He’s crouching a good meter away from the dog’s radius of attack, hand outstretched.

The silky-furred creature turns its nose up, huffs, and looks in the other direction.

Damn it, the _nerve!_

 _“Nē,_ Tobio-chan!” Kageyama’s least favourite voice in the world calls out. He curses, and gets up. “Having fun with Cocoa?”

“Not a bit,” Kageyama grits. “Since your dumbass dog is as snotty as you are.”

The fluffy fuck chooses that very moment to whip around and bare its teeth at him, like it understands what he said.

A gasp from behind. “How _dare_ you speak about her that way, Tobio-chan! She’s a good girl!” Oikawa-san skips — _skips_ — toward the post where the creature from hell is leashed to. He puts his palms on the sides of its face and squishes its fur up and down, making disgusting kissing noises. “Isn’t that right? Who’s a good girl? You are! You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Cocoa?”

The dog has the audacity to yip happily, its short tail wagging in every direction. Kageyama wants to sneer, and he does, but it comes out painfully weak. He’s so _weak._ Animals are so stupidly cute. They’re so _stupid._ Man, dogs can go _screw off._

“Tobio-chan, do you even know how to make friends with a dog?”

Kageyama tenses up. Of course he does. He’s read about three hundred books on it.

“I _know_ how you’re supposed to handle dogs, Oikawa-san,” he says, “but _that_ is no dog. It is clearly a spawn of Satan.”

“Say that again and I’ll set her on you, Tobio-chan!” the brunette chirps, rubbing his palms all over the soft-looking fur.

“It’s clearly a spawn of Satan,” he repeats. By now, he’s ready to accept that it hates his guts. “It’s probably because it’s _your_ dog. I am naturally repelled by everything related to your existence.”

Oikawa-san smiles unpleasantly, and waves Kageyama over. His tone is mocking when he speaks, but softer. “Come on, Tobio...try again, won’t you? Cocoa’s usually really friendly. It might be how you smell.”

“How I _smell?”_ Kageyama steps forward, offended. After all the _toil_ he’s gone through for trying to learn about making friends with animals, this itsy-bitsy _pomeranian_ directly from the seventh circle of hell has the nerve to _discriminate_ against him based on _smell?_

His senior shrugs indifferently. “If you’re doing everything else right, it could be the reason.”

“I _am._ I’m doing everything right.”

“Show me then, come on.”

Kageyama snarls, but then he can feel a part of him that _really_ wants this, wants animals to tolerate him a little better, wants to touch their fur. He’s a kid, after all, he can want this, _damn it!_

So he steps forward, crouches down again. Makes himself a smaller figure, a less threatening one, slowly extends his hand toward the caramel-coloured ball of fur, holding his breath when Cocoa actually sniffs it. 

But then when Kageyama goes to move his hand toward its chin, there's a flash of teeth, and the dumbass dog nearly _takes his damn fingers off._ Kageyama shoots backward like a squid.

And Oikawa-san _laughs_ at him, putting his fingertips to his mouth, and in a terrifying instance of parallelism Kageyama sees an image of a a certain snarky, blond blocker. “Cocoa is even smaller than she looks, ‘cause of all that fur,” Oikawa says, “so she’s probably scared. Actually, she likes it better when strangers put their hand on _top_ of her head.”

Kageyama grimaces, but then he looks at the pom’s now-angelic snout and reconsiders. He wonders how so much ferocity can lie behind such an innocent face. The dog reminds him of someone, too, but he can’t think of who.

“Last try,” Kageyama says. His pride can wait another day. Oikawa’s furball can’t.

This time, he goes for the top of her head, hand curving downward when Cocoa’s snout tips back to look at him. Then, he drops his hand down on her head, and Cocoa stills. Neither of them move, until Cocoa starts wagging her stub of a tail.

Kageyama smiles despite himself, relishing the feel of the soft fur against his hand. He’s doing it! He’s petting the dog!

“Good girl,” he says, shining.

“See, even an idiot like you could do it,” Oikawa-san sings, and the moment is over. “It’s so easy, right? _Baka, baka, baka!”_

“Boke,” Kageyama says back, but quietly so as to not disturb Cocoa, and he moves his hand toward her back. She sits down, no longer angry, and her little body vibrates under his touch. Kageyama may or may not be crying.

Just then, a shadow falls over the three of them, and the dog jumps up and yips and starts wagging her tail like crazy.

 _“What_ is happening here,” Iwaizumi-san says, and blinks confusedly at the two setters. “You — and you — not fighting with each other —”

“Iwa-chan! What took you so long!”

“Had to make arrangements with Daichi-kun since our Captain wasn’t there to do it,” he sneers. Oikawa apologizes with a wink and sticks his tongue out.

Kageyama greets the Ace politely, and then excuses himself. “I should go,” he says. “My Captain’s probably looking for me.” 

“Tobio-chan! Don’t hate yourself, you’ve been accepted by all of one dog!” Oikawa-san’s smile is smug as Kageyama gives Cocoa one last pat and turns away. “Don’t miss us too much!”

“Good _girl,_ Cocoa,” Kageyama hears Iwaizumi-san coo, and he quickly decides he doesn’t want to ruin his mental image of Seijoh’s tough Ace. He runs all the way back to the gym.

 

 

 

After being skillfully avoided by Nekoma’s pudding-head setter after their evening game together, Kageyama decides he needs to read up on how to befriend cats, too.


	10. Yamaguchi: And No, I Didn't End Up Writing That Essay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Current concern: Whenever he thinks a cute girl has come over to talk to him, all they want to talk about is Tsukishima.
> 
> (Alternate title: Obligatory Sunshine Chapter) (!!!)

Yamaguchi’s sitting at a table crowded with Tsukki’s endless binders and pocket folders, just minding his own business, when he sees _her._

At first, the small girl doesn’t even register in his brain. Yamaguchi reasons that it’s because she’s so small, and so cute, that he has a hard time believing what he’s seeing, although the reality of it is probably that her small figure’s been simply overshadowed by her three other, taller friends for the past hour, so it’s like she’d just _appeared_ when Yamaguchi cared to take a break from staring holes into his novel study assignment and actually look around the earthen-toned café.

“What up with you,” Tsukishima says, glaring and bashing ceaselessly at his laptop. It takes Yamaguchi a few seconds to realize he’s talking to him.

He smiles. “Nothing, Tsukki.”

“Okay.”

The keyboard-bashing increases in frequency.

Yamaguchi doesn’t think he’s the perfect friend by any stretch of the phrase, but still, he can’t help but feel a little disappointed when Tsukishima doesn’t pry any further, which is kind of stupid, really, since he’s certain he wouldn’t have anything to say if he did. But _still._

Yamaguchi turns back to his own laptop, tries to think up a better thesis than _‘I read an English book recently and it made me think about my life.’_ He highlights the whole sentence, the one and only clump of words existing on the document for the past hour (excluding the humble title, _‘English and sadness’),_ and deletes it. Types another couple of words, and deletes those, too. 

Futile. Yamaguchi yawns.

He tunes in to the sound of girls giggling at something a few tables over. They’re pressed around the table, with the small blonde girl in the middle, who is shaking her head and also turning very, very red, from what he can see.

Then, Tsukishima announces: “I'm going to the washroom.” Which is unusual in the first place, and should have been an obvious sign that something isn’t right here, perhaps should have sounded off one of the many alarms Yamaguchi has tucked away in his brain in the case that any sort of strange and unpleasant situation happens to arise, such as, in theory, this one.

Anyway, two thoughts do attempt to run through his mind for the briefest of seconds: first of all, why would Tsukishima need to go to the washroom when he’s had no more than three sips of water in the past hour — those three sips being entirely owed to a nagging Yamaguchi — having chosen instead to focus a hundred percent of his mental capacity to the innumerable and nonetheless disgusting economics graphs spread out in front of his very person? However, this particular thought is eradicated as soon as it is born. Due to the unpredictability of human bodily functions.

The second is far more concerning: the question of why Tsukishima would feel obliged to tell Yamaguchi, or _anyone, ever,_ what he’s about to do, much less when he’s about to _go to the washroom,_ when he can just marinate away in his salty flesh enclosure, and refuse any form of social communication to take the place of his everlasting love for academic studies. Yamaguchi’s already learned to accept it. Which is the _reason_ this should’ve been more than a little wrong. Especially since Tsukishima is supposedly a mathematical sort of person, someone who can normally be logically figured out if you would just think hard enough and for a long enough amount of time about him. (Yamaguchi has a feeling that Nekoma’s Captain tends to do this a lot.)

But, okay — sue him — Yamaguchi’s distracted, rightly so, he thinks. By the. The girl. He physically _cannot_ get over how cute and small she is.

So anyway. Tsukishima’s already in the washroom when Yamaguchi finishes trying and failing to justify what just happened. Which is just as well, because — ok, maybe _not_ just as well, but at a conveniently horrible timing all the same — the small blond girl gets up from her seat so abruptly that she almost knocks her chair over, and —

The other girls are pushing her a little —

She’s coming this way! 

Yamaguchi looks away quickly. But why would she be —

Ah, he realizes, belatedly. Tsukishima. That makes perfect sense. 

The tall middle-blocker has always been a difficult catch for The Girls. ( _‘The Girls’_ being the term coined by Yamaguchi to describe Tsukki’s ever-expanding fan club of girls from all years. Tsukki despises it.) Of course, this is mostly due to his romantic preference toward those of the opposite sex than the majority of those in his confounded little following, but if that little fact should happen to have been perceived by The Girls, it certainly seems to go ignored. Denied, or just unnoticed in the first place. Also, partly due to his eternal, non-renounceable, and non-refundable marriage to double-bar graphs. _(Disgusting.)_

But really, it isn’t Yamaguchi’s job to tell them that.

When he looks up from his laptop again, the girl is standing right next to him.

Deep breath, big smile. “Hello!” 

“Ah, h-hi!” she replies. Just as he thinks she can’t get any cuter. Yamaguchi swears he almost dies right then and there. Her voice is so adorable. _Everything_ about her is adorable. Yamaguchi thinks she’d be just as cute to the unflappable Tsukishima Kei. Not that he'd ever admit it.

“Are you looking for Tsukishima? Tall, glasses?”

The girl’s eyebrows knit. “No, I w-wasn’t looking. For him.”

Well —! Surprise. “Oh. Sorry, I assumed,” Yamaguchi says, turning warm. He fidgets with his the hem of his jacket.

“It’s okay!” She points to his laptop. “You — you’re taking English, too?”

“Yeah!” he says. “I like reading the books, but I really don’t like having to write reports for them. As you can probably tell.” He gestures toward the tragically empty document.

“I get you! I’m reading one called ‘Charlotte’s Web’ right now. For the d-discussion assignment. Who — which class are you in?”

“”Room two-hundred-six,” Yamaguchi says. “Upstairs, in a corner.”

“Oh, that’s what I thought. I-I mean,” she stutters, and Yamaguchi would laugh if he didn’t think it would immediately scare off the girl in front of him. “I see you before the bell sometimes. I’m in the room directly under. You know. A-After you go down the stairwell.”

“I see.” He adds, sheepishly, “I’ve never seen you.”

“I’m very small!”

Yamaguchi’s gaze sweeps the hardly-there surface of the café table, and makes an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry, I would ask you to sit down, but I don’t think you want to sit on all these papers.” He shakes his head. “I really don’t know how Tsukki can stand it.”

“It’s okay, I’m happy to stand up after sitting for so long, anyway.” Oh, that’s right! Yamaguchi hadn’t considered that! “So, your friend, he wants to go into business? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“Something like that,” Yamaguchi says. “He never tells me exactly what. It’s definitely got to do with numbers.”

“Hi-to-ka!” A voice calls out from the twinkling chimes on the door. “We’re leaving!”

She waves at the girls, and then turns to smile at Yamaguchi. “I’m glad that I got the courage to come and t-talk to you,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears. “You seem very nice.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Yamaguchi says, trying to remember how to breathe. “We should — we can hang out sometime. I’ve always wanted to read Charlotte’s Web.”

“Oh! F-For sure! Yes.” Cute. Adorable. _Illuminating, making-the-world-go-round,_ is what Suga-san would say. _Short,_ is what Tsukki would say.

There’s a silence, where Yamaguchi thanks whatever higher power is up there for bringing this very _not_ unpleasant person into his life. 

Then, “Oh! Your name!”

“Oh!” Yamaguchi repeats. He feels shy, suddenly. “Name. My name is. Y-Yamaguchi Tadashi.”

“I’m Yachi Hitoka.” A bright smile, too bright, Yamaguchi has to look away. “Well, now y-you know where my classroom is.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Okay. I guess I’ll see you later. I — I gotta run.” 

“See you around.” 

Yamaguchi leaves his heart wide open, keeps it on his sleeve, like maybe he’ll be _this_ happy forever if he doesn’t lock it away again. 

And when Yachi is halfway out the door, she stops, turns, smiles again, calls: “You’re on the volleyball team, right?”

Then she’s gone. And Yamaguchi can’t help but feel like the café is twice as empty.

Minutes later, when Yamaguchi finishes his attempt to recover from the wonderful, _blessed, heaven-sent, unexpected_ occurrence that just happened to happen to _him,_ a near-invisible, pinch-server-in-progress, small-in-all-aspects-other-than-physical student with a humble love for classic English literature — _anyway,_ when he finishes attempting to recover (because he’s certain he won’t _really_ recover from the wondrous phenomenon that is Yachi Hitoka for another week, or maybe another year), he turns back to his table, and Tsukishima Kei, the bastard, is standing there with his hands on his hips and his glasses perched on his nose and a barely, _barely_ noticeable lift of the corner of his mouth. One that would seem nonexistent to anyone but Yamaguchi Tadashi. 

Yamaguchi Tadashi, who has trained himself thus far to recognize all two of Tsukishima’s emotions — bored, and annoyed — the three standard, generic responses programmed into his own brain like an NPC, habits, normalities, abnormalities, and whatnot —

But this side is just a little new to him, all the same, and it’s nice, all the same.

Yamaguchi can’t figure out how to say _thank you,_ or _how did you know,_ or even _did you know,_ so he gets up noisily and helps pick up all of the gross economic graphs from the floor, and the table, and everywhere, because Tsukishima manages his papers like Yamaguchi manages his heart — boldly, proudly, a little carelessly — and Tsukishima, Tsukishima doesn’t try to stop him.

 

 

 

 

“Oh, by the way — it was just a hunch, Tadashi,” is what Tsukishima tells him, a week later, and Yamaguchi has to sit down when he remembers what the heck he’s going on about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys i think this is my favourite one holy shit. i never thought writing beloved Tadashi could be so fun.


End file.
